


heart of gold

by Nerdanel



Category: Guild Wars 2 (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, LS4 spoilers, Other, Path of Fire spoilers, What-If, character exploration, there's no real romance, this is pure self-indulgence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:14:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25961935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nerdanel/pseuds/Nerdanel
Summary: If Nenah hadn't met the Commander in the Domain of the Lost, but Joko got his hands on them instead, maybe this is what would have happened!
Relationships: Braham Eirsson/Player Character, Palawa Joko/Player Character
Comments: 1
Kudos: 29





	heart of gold

**Author's Note:**

> written purely to entertain my fellow guild members, and then held at a gunpoint to publish it by them...
> 
> here's to hoping others find it somewhat entertaining as well! ty to fae for the edits!

Braham wakes from an unsettling dream, head pounding from all the ale he’s imbibed the night before, and gets to his feet. There’s an imprint of the wooden table left upon his cheek, and dried drool sticking to his lips. He rubs his face roughly and casts about for his bow for a moment, locating it propped on the wall next to his table and stumbles out of the tavern on unsteady legs.

Rox generally wakes him up whenever he’s had too much to drink, and yet in the wan morning sunlight of Hoelbrak, she’s nowhere to be found. Garm’s sitting outside the building, as if waiting for him. Braham motions for him to follow and begins trudging in the direction of the Great Lodge. If Rox isn’t there, she might have gone off to the Black Citadel or something, though Braham can’t imagine why.

His mind is sluggish, though the bracing cold wind helps reduce the aches and pains from a rowdy night of drinking. Every time Braham thinks he’ll keep his alcohol intake in check, and every time, he fails. The town hasn’t started to stir yet, so Braham’s left alone with his own thoughts, jumbled as they are.

He hadn’t expected to come back to Hoelbrak in this way. The way he’d envisioned was him coming home with Jormag dead, at his hand, by his bow, and finally becoming a legend worthy of recognition. Without being associated with  _ that person’s _ feats anymore. It was all he could think off through the endless blizzards and sleets of snow battering against his body.

In the end, none of that came to pass and here he is, defeated by the Commander before he can even begin.

Garm’s barks bring him out of his daze and he spots Rox in the distance, standing next to the Asura gate out of Hoelbrak, and quickens his pace despite the nausea building up in his throat.

“Rox, where were you? Did you not drink with us last night?”

Rox looks up at the sound of his voice, and something about her expression gives him pause. She’s holding a piece of paper in her claws, a fine tremor going through her strong frame.

“Rox?” Braham ventures, bridging the gap between them as quickly as he can, albeit not to peek at her correspondence.

“Braham—we have to go to Lion’s Arch,” Rox says, her normally unflappable voice shaky.

“What happened?” There’s a pit in Braham’s stomach that he can’t explain nor articulate, so he looks at Rox for explanation for insisting on a sudden departure from the Shiverpeaks.

“It’s the Commander,” Rox says, collecting herself once more. “I got a letter from Taimi.”

And just like that, the anxiety gives away to rage and frustration, and despite not meaning to, Braham says sharply, “Why should I go to Lion’s Arch for the Commander? Why did they make Taimi send a letter to  _ you _ ? Do they think I’ll agree to be their lackey again if you convince me?”

“Braham,” Rox says, voice very quiet. “Braham, Taimi said that the Commander’s dead.”

He must have misheard her. Her words make such little sense that he had to have heard it wrong. He frowns at her and barks out a short, aborted laugh, and says, “Is this her or their idea of a  _ joke _ ?”

Rox swallows and hands him the piece of paper she’s been holding. Her claws have perforated the edges and crinkled the crisp texture. There’s not a lot of text on it, just two lines, written with an unsteady hand. There’s a pale-yellow blotch next to the signature of the sender that Braham finds himself fixating upon.

He’s never seen that kid cry before.

Braham folds the letter and puts it in his belt, before saying, “Let’s go.”

A light snowfall begins to come down from the overcast skies as they step through the gate, but Braham can’t remember when the sun has gone out.

* * *

The person they find first is Ellen Kiel, busy packing away some documents and tidying up her desk as if she’s leaving her station. When Rox knocks on the door, she starts and swallows, her face pale.

“Ah, Rox and Braham,” she exclaims, putting names to their faces. “Taimi mentioned you two might turn up.”

“Where’s the squirt?” Braham cuts in first, wanting to undo this joke if it really is one.

“All loaded up into the ship to Elona. She asked me to wait a few hours for you two,” Ellen says, resuming her work, though she keeps her gaze trained upon them. “I’m surprised you came, because she didn’t seem very hopeful.”

“I got her letter.” Rox hesitates for a moment, before asking, “Is it—is it true?”

“Yes,” Ellen says, heaving a sigh. “I mean, I’ve not been there personally, so I can’t say for sure, but I’ve gotten far too many reports to think otherwise.”

“How long ago was it…?”

“A couple of days now,” Ellen says with a grimace. “When the Commander was leaving, I was a bit bewildered that they wanted to go up against Balthazar alone—”

“Alone?” Braham asks, the word cutting through the haze that’s settled on his brain. “What do you mean alone?”

“They left for Elona with just my crew, Braham, if that’s what you’re asking. I asked them for the other members of Dragon’s Watch, but they said it’d just be them.”

“But what of Tribune Brimstone? Jory and Kasmeer?”

“I heard that Rytlock Brimstone and Kasmeer Meade did end up in Elona on their own, and so did Canach—” Ellen makes a face— “but the Commander did start the mission on their own. The reports from Elona take a while to reach here, so I have no way of knowing what went on.” Ellen sighs and closes the drawers and cupboards, locking them up and pocketing the key as she adds, “For the rest of it…ask Taimi. She’s waiting for you two.”

“Are you coming too?” Rox is the one who asks because Braham’s still trying to process the information he’s received so far.

Ellen shakes her head and says, “Just preparing for the inevitable, I guess. We’ll fight to the last man, but you know.”

“We understand. We’ll be heading to the desert then, Captain Kiel. Farewell,” Rox replies and drags Braham along with her.

He doesn’t know how long it takes them to arrive at the docking bay, or the formalities to be observed before boarding. It’s not until he spots Taimi sitting in the underbelly of the ship, tucked in a corner that the fog on his brain clears a little.

“Taimi?” he calls out, very softly, as if he can’t bear to raise his voice. She hears him anyway, uncoiling from her perch and limping over to him, her golem forgotten. He doesn’t know who closed the distance, but she’s clinging to his furs and he holds her shaking shoulders, swallowing thickly.

She’s not crying, unlike what he’d expected and it unsettles him far more than if she’d wailed and wept in his arms. He holds her carefully as she clutches at him, and not a single word is exchanged between them.

A heaviness settles in his gut, the weight of the certainty he’s been avoiding since this morning. His throat closes up as he sits down next to her, watching as Rox stands to the side to give them space, staring at the walls.

Braham had so many questions, so many complaints to make at Taimi, and maybe a few apologies too, but none come to mind right now. It’s all he can do to keep his head relatively empty, even as the last meeting he’d had with the Commander rises from his psyche like a dreaded ghost. The long journey does not make it any better either.

Elona’s heat is hard and unforgivable, the sun beating down on his head and neck, rivulets of sweat disappearing into his pelts. He doesn’t even care to take them off as they alight from the ship and make their way to the thoroughfare.

It’s a city full of humans, bustling about, uncaring of the threat looming over their heads, milling about endlessly. They get a few strange looks, but for the most part there’s nothing familiar about it until they run into Canach and Rytlock, standing outside a pyramid—Kasmeer nowhere to be seen.

If Braham hadn’t believed it before, he does now. Even deep into the jungle with its sweltering heat and poisonous air, he’d never seen these two look like the way they do now. He clenches his fists and greets them by their names:

“Tribune, Canach—”

“Ah, Taimi,” Rytlock says, brusque yet uncomfortable. “Rox and Braham, you came too, huh…”

“Tribune, is it really true?” Rox asks again, like she really can’t believe it. Braham can’t blame her. He does not want to either, because even now, it does not feel real.

The only thing that’s different is the giant fist closing around his heart, tightening ever so slightly, as he gets closer and closer to the inevitable conclusion.

Rytlock grunts, looking down at his feet. The sun continues to shine all around them, but Braham’s insides are starting to freeze.

“What happened?” Rox asks, when the silence stretches on for too long.

Canach and Rytlock look at each other, their expressions riddled with guilt, and in the end it’s Canach who explains because Rytlock seems to have run out of juice.

“We found out that Balthazar was going after Aurene, so the Commander told us to go back to Tarir. However, before we could rendezvous with them, Balthazar ambushed them and tortured them to lure Aurene out. Once she came, he captured her and killed the Commander.”

“Who’s Aurene?”

At Rox’s question, Taimi says in a mechanical voice, “She is Glint’s scion—hatched from that egg. The Commander had been raising her, so the Commander was…the perfect bait.”

The world greys at the edges, Taimi’s words sliding off Braham’s brain like sand through his fist, and he has to remember to breathe since he’s getting lightheaded. He can’t parse anything that’s being said and while Rox copes with trying to amass any information possible, Braham wishes he could melt into the ground.

They stand around awkwardly for a while, none of them asking why they’re waiting here. Not until Kasmeer comes out of the building, her eyes puffy and red and a hard set to her jaw. Her expression wobbles, however, when she spots Braham, Rox and Taimi, fresh tears sliding over her cheeks as she walks closer.

“Jory didn’t come?” She asks in a whisper, looking only at Taimi.

“I sent her a letter,” Taimi replies in the same tone as before. “Not sure if she got it in time.”

“I see—I see,” Kasmeer says, pained and distraught. She finally faces Braham and Rox and adds, “The Commander is—we didn’t, we couldn’t—the councilwoman generously provided us a quiet place to keep them until we can figure out a way to…” Kasmeer trails off, unable or unwilling to finish that sentence. After rocking herself on her feet, she adds in a small voice, “This way.”

Their path is lined with unfamiliar vines and plants, draped over the sides of the pillars to provide a much welcome shade. At the end of it is a small but spacious room, bedecked in soft rugs and colourful carpets, with seats placed next to the big window opening to the sea, letting in a gentle breeze.

It’s a good resting place, Braham thinks. Peaceful and quiet. Away from the clamour and noise of the market beyond.

Just below the sill, there’s an unadorned wooden box the length of a person just sitting there, innocuously. Braham takes a step forward, unbidden, and the Commander’s voice fills his senses.

The  _ memory _ of their voice: fumbling, pleading, imploring him to come to his senses, and his rebuke after rebuke, right into their face. He had screamed at them until he got everything off his chest, hadn’t he? He didn’t even bother to look at their bewildered—hurt expressions. At the way they’d tried to reach out to him somehow, no matter how hard he slapped their hand away.

Therefore, how could Braham dare to take a look at their face one last time, knowing that this is his fault?

The moment he admits that to himself, the world around him becomes hushed. The sound of the seagulls, the lapping of the waves, the distant noises all fade into the background and the room with its colourful fabrics and walls leach off their colour, turning uniformly grey.

Braham can’t breathe for the ashes.

* * *

The others discuss logistics, rituals, procedures while Braham sits on his knees, unmoving now that he’s dropped down to the floor. He cannot bear to look at them or away, so he stares at the edge of the deep, dark wood.

It also bleeds grey, meaningless and cold, not like the snow—but like ashes when the fire has long since gone out. There’s a presence to his side. Taimi, leaning on him, silent like him, but her warmth eludes him. Braham does not think he can feel the warmth at all now. Even in the blistering heat of the desert, his heart is encased in ice.

Rytlock is asking Kasmeer about the Commander’s relatives or friends, since they are both nobles from the same city, and yet nothing alike. Braham didn’t even know that, in fact. Never even heard or asked.

Did he ever really ask what the Commander’s life was like, outside of their work? They weren’t a norn, so their life didn’t revolve around a legend. They must have grown up somewhere, must have had parents, relatives—something? Anything?

“I asked Lord Faren once,” Kasmeer says in a colourless voice. “He just said that they were orphaned at a young age and lived alone after a point. Never really returned to Salma, never stepped foot into the circle of nobility. Once they made their choice, they left. I don’t know anything else.”

Just because the Commander had never talked about it, Braham had assumed they truly were carved out of stone like the sculptures his mother used to make. A statue of a hero come to life, with no feelings or needs or wants of their own. Less of a person and more of a construct. They were infallible in battle at least, despite Braham’s concerns about their well-being before—

Not so infallible now, were they? Braham just had been wrong about everything, including this too.

When Rytlock had opened the coffin for Taimi, Braham had also caught a glimpse of their face and hair—the red a shock against the slate-grey of Braham’s world—and he’d only then realised how small they’d always been.

Small and insignificant.

Braham doesn’t know how long he sits there, and keeps sitting long after his legs have gone numb. The sun slides through the horizon, day turning into dusk until the stars come out. The townspeople light up their city with incandescent lamps, the firelight illuminating the dark, but this room is still shrouded in the gloom.

Eventually, Kasmeer is the one who approaches him. Her fingers touch his shoulder as she says, “Braham, the magic keeping their body intact will wear off soon enough. We need to—” She pauses, takes a deep breath and continues: “We have to take care of them one last time.”

Braham wants to point out that he’s not looked after them in life, so he doesn’t really have the right to do so in death. But it’s a moot point. It helps no one, especially not the Commander, so he nods wordlessly and gets up, stumbling as his legs are assaulted by pins and needles. He goes to stand outside, leaving only Kasmeer and Taimi inside, so they can make the necessary preparations.

Taimi’s sobs are audible even through the door.

Neither Rytlock nor Canach have hung around for this part, instead choosing to prepare the pyre. Apparently, they’ve elected to burn the body and take the ashes back to Tyria, rather than leave them in a foreign land. Braham can understand: he’d had to make this choice once before for his mother.

The moon has risen by the time they’re done, and Kasmeer steps out, wiping at her face, and says, “Braham, will you carry them?”

Braham wants to say no, but doesn’t. He should say no, and yet he does not. Bile rises to his throat as he bends down to pick them up, because he can tell that Kasmeer has cast glamour on their face, hiding the burns and the open wounds left on their skin.

He can barely imagine the toll it must have taken on her.

They are light, almost insubstantial in his arms and it feels wrong. The Commander was always so much larger than life, they shouldn’t weigh so little now, in their death. Swallowing, Braham tucks them close to his chest, shuddering at the cold and clammy skin pressing against his, as he carries them out.

The walk from the room to the back of Amnoon is interminable, and Braham’s glad for the cover of the night because he doesn’t want anyone to look upon them like this. Each step is a stab against his own heart, but the pain is the last thing on his mind. He feels ill—more than ill, really. A part of him wants this over with, so that he can go throw himself into a battle and never return.

As it is with all journeys, this one comes to an end as well, and when he puts them down, his arms tighten around their body, unwilling to let go. How can he let go? His eyes burn from unshed tears, because he does not deserve to let them go and seek relief. And yet, his body is slipping beyond his control. There’s a great pounding in his head, a stinging pain in his chest. He craves the numbness of before, just far too late to chase after it.

“Braham…” Rox murmurs from behind him, not unkindly.

After a difficult struggle, Braham unwinds his arms, careful not to let the back of their head hit the woods. He has enough practice for this now, so he makes sure to arrange them properly. Rytlock passes him the torch, stepping back like he doesn’t want to be here at all. Canach’s standing far away and Taimi’s crying hard enough to be heard back in Amnoon.

Steeling himself, Braham brings the torch closer and at the same time, the air around them cracks, the space above splitting into two as something—someone—tall and lean and distinctly awakened steps through the portal.

“Tsk, tsk,” he says, eyeing the corpse with disdain. “If I was a second too late, you would have ruined my new masterpiece.”

His foot presses against the Commander’s chest, toes pressing against the underside of their chin. Braham’s blood boils and burns through his mind, leaving him filled with nothing more than rage. He swings his club and yells, “What are you doing?”

“That’s Joko!” Canach exclaims, running to their position, weapons out and tension radiating off of him.

Braham has no idea what that means. He doesn’t care who this guy is; he just wants him off the Commander’s—

Joko opens his palm, revealing a clear blue flame cradled within and before anyone can react, he opens the Commander’s mouth with his other hand and pushes it within. There’s a moment where no one moves, not even Joko, and then the Commander’s body jolts on the wood.

Joko hops off the pyre and stares intently at the Commander’s body, and for the time being, so do Braham and the rest.

The Commander coughs and convulses for a few moments, until colour bleeds back into their skin, the glamour shattering as Joko clicks his fingers. The wounds close up and the burn marks recede, and the Commander’s eyelashes flutter before their eyes open as they sit up.

“Rise, my newest Archon,” Joko says, with a pleased purr to his voice. “It’s time for you to return to the world of the living once more.”

The Commander looks at him, and then unexpectedly, they bow to him and say in a very soft voice, “Thank you, king Joko, for bringing me back to life.”

Joko chuckles in satisfaction and says, “Come, let’s go. My empire awaits this welcome addition.” He walks back into the portal without looking back.

The Commander’s nearly halfway to the portal that Braham locates his voice and shouts, “Commander, what are you doing? Where are you going?”

The Commander, however, does not even look back. The crack between the space swallows them without another word, leaving the rest behind.

* * *

The siege of Amnoon goes poorly, and it’s not for Joko and his army. Joko’s new Archon really did live up to all his expectations, whether it was leading the army of the awakened, or personally wiping out a good chunk of the defending force of the cavaliers. Chief Councilor Imann surrenders to the invading army before the sun has set, and there’s nothing that remnants of Dragon’s Watch can do except watch helplessly.

More than anyone else, they are the ones who know that the Commander fights like a force of nature: unstoppable and ruthless. The idea of raising their weapons against them in itself takes more courage than they possess, and when they do, they are swatted aside like flies. Be it because of the difference in combat prowess, or because of their feelings hindering them, they are of no help to Amnoon.

When Joko walks through the front gates, the Commander bows at his feet and offers him the city, and promises him Balthazar’s head next. The way Joko tilts their head up and smiles at them, promising them the honour to be by his side—that’s what convinces Dragon’s Watch members that there may be no going back from this.

They, along with the Sunspears, help evacuate as many as they can, as Amnoon, the last of the free cities to fall into Joko’s clutches, and the Commander’s name is smeared across the history books in black letters.

And that’s only the beginning of the end.

* * *

Until now, Braham didn’t understand what it means to have the Commander turn his back on him, not really. There is a world of difference between them being preoccupied with something far greater than the friendship between the two of them, and when the Commander really, truly does not care.

Braham can’t feel his right side, where the Commander had hit him a few days ago. They’d brushed him aside with nary a thought, chucking him into a wall as they beelined for the Cavaliers and its Captain. The Commander hadn’t spared anyone at all, nor had they held back.

Finally, Braham understands how their enemies must have felt until now. While he’s always admired the Commander’s combat prowess, he’d never had to be on the other end of their sword. His heart pounds a little every time he remembers it, and then goes back to aching.

He’d held them in his arms, the first and the last time, and they were dead. And then this lich—this abomination had brought them back, not as his awakened troops, but as themselves, and yet not. The face and the body hadn’t changed, but their eyes became like a stranger’s and Braham doesn’t know what to think. There are no explanations, only the silence between his companions.

And then, there’s a gentle touch by his elbow, as Braham looks down to find Taimi applying a poultice to his ruined arm. She has escaped with only a few scratches and for that, Braham’s grateful. However, just because her body’s fine doesn’t mean everything else is.

He wants to reassure her, comfort her, but he can’t even do that for himself. As yet another day sets on the desert landscape, Braham wonders if stepping out of Cragstead that one time was the right choice after all.

The night brings the howls of distant beasts, of giant beasts – hydras the locals call them – prowling the crevasse below. It also brings a shadow in the shape of a man. It’s their first meeting with Agent Kito of the Order of Shadows, and their first news from Joko’s kingdom.

“It’s bad,” Kito says, wiping at his face. “Your Commander is a monster.”

“Hey,” Rytlock growls.

“It’s true,” Kito insists, his voice dry as kindling, ready to be ignited. “What happened to Amnoon, Elona won’t forget. When we thought dragonslayer, we didn’t know that it’d be something like that. I thought the guy who watched them fight Balthazar was overselling—”

“Someone was  _ watching _ that?”

Kito looks askance at Braham and says, “Obviously. I had to keep an eye on them.”

“And he didn’t help?” Braham isn’t listening anymore.

“Eirsson, was it?” Kito says evenly. “Do you think that one person can go stand up against the god of war? Did you not see how well it turned out for your Commander?”

Braham sits up with a grunt, fists clenching as the memory of cold limbs and flesh rot returns to his mind, making his stomach churn.

“Enough.” Canach puts his foot down before the matter can escalate, throwing his shield between them and putting a hand on Braham’s uninjured shoulder. Once he’s sure that the situation won’t deteriorate, he picks up his shield and turns to Kito. “How hard will it be to retrieve them from under Joko’s care?”

Kito’s imperturbable expression falters for a second as his brows come together. “You want to extract them from Joko’s bone palace?” He asks, as if he thinks Canach’s lost his mind.

“Why not?”

“First of all, even if the Commander wasn’t such a formidable warrior, which they are,” Kito says slowly, “infiltrating that place is nigh impossible with all the Awakened around. The entire area is heavily fortified. Our agents do sneak around, but we can’t get too close. And the other thing is that the Commander is too strong and completely under Joko’s thumb.”

“He revived them, so he must have used something to bind their memories,” Canach says, shrugging. “We have to neutralise them at any cost, if we want to save them.”

“Tell that to the hundreds of Elonians they killed without remorse,” Kito replies coldly. “However, I’ll cooperate with the Dragon’s Watch, because it’s in our best interest to muzzle them somehow. As long as they’re Joko’s pet, all our causes will suffer.”

“Glad we are in agreement then, Special Agent Kito,” Canach says in a pleasant voice and straps himself in his armour. “The sooner we set out for the Desolation, the better.”

Kito snorts and puts his hood back on. “I’ll arrange you a passage through the riverlands. See you on the other side.”

Once Kito melts away into the shadows, Canach sits down again, holding his head in hands. “How are we going to fight the Commander?”

“Let’s get ourselves patched up first,” Rytlock says, sighing. “We are in no shape to fight.” He sends a pointed stare in Braham’s direction, a slight admonishment but nothing more than that.

Braham grunts and takes the poultice from Taimi’s hands and helps her apply it properly.

* * *

They pass through Destiny's Gorge, with Braham looking at the towering sandstones and rocks, trying to imagine his mother returning from the Crystal Desert, with Snaff’s body in tow and what she must have felt, but his mind turns up nothing but sand and ash. Maybe it was the same for her as well, now that he considers it at length. 

They camp by the riverside for a few hours before they have to press on. Taimi sleeps in her golem in snatches, Rytlock with his back to a palm tree, his tail kicking up dust as his dreams haunt him. Canach and Kasmeer disappear into the nearby Zephyrite village to restock their supplies and Braham does not sleep at all.

Every time he closes his eyes, the Commander’s ruined face and body rise to the forefront, and then the stillness of their expression, as they pummeled him into a wall, no different than a corpse, despite the lack of scars.

They cross the riverlands in utter silence. It’s like there’s nothing left to say between them anymore, and without the Commander, it doesn’t feel right to talk about anything else either. The only time Rytlock, Kasmeer and Canach pause, it’s underneath a nondescript spire. When they resume their trot across the low waters, their faces are ashen and set.

Braham needn’t ask what is so special about the place. The reins of his raptor dig into his palms and he presses his heels into the creature’s body, urging to go faster. The longer they take, the more out of reach the Commander will be.

When they get to Bonestrand, on the edge of the sulfurous wasteland of the Desolation, they’re greeted by an Order of Shadows agent cloaked from head to toe even in this heat.

Braham hops off his raptor and approaches him, heart in mouth, a terrible foreboding gripping him.

“Ahai, Outlanders,” the agent greets Braham quietly. “I came bearing some bad news.”

“What is it?” Rytlock asks, coming up from behind.

“The God of War has been defeated.”

There’s a stillness in the air, utter silence following those words, as if time itself has paused momentarily. The world doesn’t feel changed, despite that news. It should have. Something should have changed, but other than the sound of villagers tilling their fields in the distance, there’s nothing.

“Then…where is the Commander?”

“Joko and his Archons have moved back to Kourna, heading towards Gandara.” The Agent pauses for a while, before adding: “It’s a long journey south, if you’re still willing to make it, but unfortunately we don’t think we’ll be able to provide you with much assistance. Our agents don’t go very far beyond the fortress of Jahai.”

Taimi brings up a map of Elona and her ears droop as she scans the surface. “It should have been easier to take a ship to Gandara from Amnoon—not that it exists anymore, anyway.”

“What do we do now?” Canach wonders out loud. He lifts his gaze at the hazy skies, searching for answers between the clouds dotting the horizon.

“We press on,” Braham says, hopping back on the mount. “No other choice. The Commander would have done the same.”

He thinks. He  _ hopes _ .

“You are serious?” The Order of Shadows Agent stares up at them, aghast.

“We have to try,” Braham says with a sigh. “There’s no other options available.”

The Agent lowers his head for a moment, before lifting it and saying, “Can you give me half a day’s worth of time. Rest at the village—Kisha Odil will look after you, while I go report the matter to the Chantry, and if there’s any way to ease the passage from here to Gandara, I will find it for you.”

The unexpected help and kindness allays some of the weariness from Braham’s mind as he crouches his way through a house of baked clay bricks, and drinks a jar full of water. There’s a particular odor to it, but he’s so thirsty he barely minds it.

Whether or not it’s a welcome respite remains to be seen since the atmosphere of the village is very tense. People only talk in hushed voices, afraid that it might reach the ears of Palawa Joko, and as such, housing infiltrators like them is a great risk if discovered.

Before the noon is past, their liaison with the Order of Shadows returns, this time without a hood and he sits down with them to eat, like they’re all friends. Once the paltry meal of dried bread and warm water has been consumed, he says, “There are two methods to get to Kourna, and each of them is more perilous than the other. Do you have a map?”

Canach and Taimi offer their own versions, one on paper and another on a monitor.

The guy puts his finger on their location at present and slides it down to the spots marked with deep splotches of yellow and says, “The first, and less risky path is to head southeast and make your ways through the Vehjin Mines and get to Vabbi, and from there, stick to the branded areas, avoiding Joko’s kingdom. The branded areas are guarded by djinns, which will provide some help while traversing that terrain. From there, go to the Yatendi Canyons here—” he jabs at the watery areas indicated therein— “and then, finally, just keep going south while avoiding as many Awakened as you can. We won’t be able to provide any help once you leave the Northern areas of Vabbi.”

Canach frowns at the trail made by his finger and asks, “Won’t that take us months? That’s a very long route even if we make the entire journey on mounts.”

“It certainly is,” the Agent agrees, sighing. “The other path is to head to Joko’s bone palace directly. Yes, I know it’s crazy. Behind the Palace is the bone wall, but if you can breach it, tame a few Junundu Wurms, and then make your way through the Sulfurous Waste, and finally, to the Gates of Desolation. If you can cross that, you’ll get to Jahai, and then go to Kourna from there.”

Where no one says anything, he adds, “Although you can make your way faster there, you’ll have to cut across thousands of Awakened, and also find Junundu Wurms to tame. So, I would not recommend it.”

“Can we not make the journey on skimmers?” Taimi asks. “They’re easier to tame and handle than the Wurms.”

“The fumes…”

“I can rig up something with Scruffy’s parts,” Taimi says, standing up. “Give me a couple of days and we’ll be…I mean, you guys will be ready to go.”

The implication that her journey will end here remains unsaid, because even though she’s been riding along, without Scruffy, her mobility will be affected. There’s no way to fix that.

“Bring them back, Braham,” Taimi whispers to him, leaning into his side for a moment and then moving away.

“What will you do about the Awakened?”

“We can disguise ourselves as them,” Kasmeer says. “I’m a Mesmer, so it won’t be too hard.”

“That’s a very audacious plan,” the Agent remarks, brimming with uncertainty, but he does not dissuade them. “You should move to the Order Chantry so you can get more resources and a safe space to construct your apparatuses.”

“Will do,” Canach says. “Once it’s all done, I’ll stay behind with the Order to study the area a bit more, and maybe keep Taimi company.”

Kasmeer sends him a complicated gaze. Braham can tell she’d have stayed behind if not for her abilities being needed elsewhere. Canach smiles grimly and adds, “I’ll give you a few explosives, to blow your way through Joko’s bones walls. It’s the least I can do.”

“Thanks, Canach,” Taimi says quietly and gets back into Scruffy as they prepare to set off for the Order of Shadows Chantry.

Braham spends most of his time fighting the Forged and the Awakened around, to keep his hands busy and his body active. The hellish landscape with the deep sulfur mines, sending plumes of toxic vapour in the air do little to alleviate the sombre mood that hangs all around them. The smell clings to their clothes, their bodies, and Braham thinks he’s starting to forget the touch of frost on his fingers.

The sounds of the birds chirping in trees in the dawn, the clean air and sunlight caressing the slopes of pure white snow on hilltops: nothing but a distant dream, just like the faint smile touching the lips of that person. He does not know if he’ll ever get to see it again in this lifetime.

As the last of the forged are cleared from the area—only a brief respite—Rytlock calls out to Braham, urging him back in. It’s the third day of their arrival, and Taimi has been at work day and night, and at long last, she has fashioned a few breathers for them to use on skimmers to travel easier.

When they set out through the sulfurous rivers running across the entire Desolation, Taimi fists her hand into Braham’s pelts and says, “Bring the Commander back, Braham, but don’t die either.”

He pats her hand and says, “I promise, Taimi.”

She doesn’t look like she believes him, but she does let him go and they set off into the unknown. If Braham had thought that their trek through the jungles of Maguuma was difficult and harrowing, this is almost as bad if not worse, especially since they’re trying to save someone very important at the end of it all.

It’s not until a week later that it hits him, as Rytlock and Kasmeer both step on their tiptoes around him. Back then, the Commander had also been chasing after someone at the end of their quest. Was it really the dragon they were after, or the person in its clutches?

They stop at the watering hole at what the map indicates to be Turai’s Procession, the first hint of greenery they’ve seen in a long, long time, and the first source of water as well. The village is deserted because of the Brand, but the wells exist. Braham splashes the water all over his face and takes a deep breath, hoping the smell of sulfur fades soon.

Once he feels sufficiently clean, he heads to the spot where Kasmeer and Rytlock have a fire going and sits down, facing them. It’s a little awkward to bring up as a topic, so he figures he’ll just get it out of the way.

“Hey Rytlock,” Braham says, clearing his throat. “Back then in the jungle, against Mordremoth…”

Rytlock stops poking at the fire and gives Braham a look. “What of it?”

“The Commander was trying to find Trahearne, right?”

Rytlock gives an affirmative growl and goes back to his task, like he does not want to talk about this anymore. However, there’s a gnawing inside Braham that refuses to be silenced, so he continues:

“Did we ever think about what it must have cost the Commander to take his life, unable to save him at the end?”

Just vocalising that is enough to hollow out Braham’s stomach and steal the relief from the faces of both Rytlock and Kasmeer. Kasmeer scuffles the dirt with her shoe and says, “I suppose it’s why the Commander carries his sword with them, like Jory has Belinda’s and you Eir’s bow.”

The reason to take up someone’s weapon, after they’ve gone, Braham understands the implications far better than any of the present. Back then he had been too caught up in his own grief to notice the Commander’s reactions; by now, it’s too late.

If they felt even half as miserable as he does now, if they felt even a fraction of the pain that sears through Braham’s chest at the idea of having to kill them, the fact that instead of being there for them, Braham had chosen to abandon them hurts even worse than anything else could have. 

Except for cradling their lifeless body in his arms. That still ranks far and above everything.

“You know, back at Camp Resolve,” Kasmeer says, a touch wistful. “I heard a few of the Pact members talking about how they hoped the Marshal and the Commander would be together once the dragons stopped keeping them apart. I didn’t think much of it then, except that it was adorable, but now…” Kasmeer exhales and falls silent.

_ Together _ .

Braham’s stomach clenches. If that were to be true, what should he do? What could he do? Trahearne’s long dead and whatever damage that must have done to the Commander remains unknown. It’s funny that Braham and the others did not realise until it happened to them as well.

It’s really not funny. Braham feels like he should curl up and never move from this spot; the memories of the Commander’s clumsy, fumbling words as they tried to explain themselves to him, only for him to shut them down, it’s all coming back to him once more as it tends to, haunting his every waking moment nowadays. The stricken expression on their face as he told them that his mother wouldn’t have wanted them there.

What’s he supposed to do  _ now _ , when the issue is beyond fixing?

“We should get going,” Rytlock says, breaking the silence that has gone on for far too long. His voice sounds strange in the stillness, where even the birds have gone quiet.

It is, in fact, far too quiet to be natural. Braham stirs and reaches for his weapon, only for a foot to crush his palm to the ground. There’s a familiar sword to his neck, and warmth of that person to his side.

Even though it cannot ever reach him again, it still exists.

“You are very brave,” comes the cold voice, “to have infiltrated so far into his Majesty’s kingdom. That Mesmer trick was very interesting.”

“Commander…how did you—?” Rytlock asks, trying to get up but the sword presses against Braham’s neck harder and he sits back down.

“You did not answer my question,” the Commander replies, holding Braham down by the throat. Their sword begins to glow from the heat of the forge, scorching his neck.

“Commander, please stop,” Kasmeer answers them instead, gasping back a hiccough. “Stop it already.”

The smell of burning flesh doesn’t stop, though the Commander’s hand is stayed. They look at Kasmeer like she’s puzzling them, and asks, “Why do you keep calling me by that title? I’m His Majesty King Palawa Joko’s Archon, not a commander.”

“Have you truly forgotten?” Kasmer asks, crying in earnest now, her tears plopping down her cheeks to wet the earth. “Have you forgotten who you are? Who we are? Even Aurene?”

The Commander frowns, the brightness of their blade dimming to the point there’s no force behind it. “Aurene,” they mouth, brows furrowing. “The little dragonling. The one Balthazar had.”

“Yes, her! Do you not remember her?”

“King Joko said that she’s meant to be my pet,” the Commander says, uncertainly. Their grip on Braham grows a little lax, but Braham knows that making a wrong move here will get them all killed. His throat hurts like hell, but he doesn’t move even an inch, doesn’t even breathe.

“Is that what you really think to be true?” Kasmeer presses. “Is she really a pet? Does that feel true in your heart?”

But that is going too far, in any case. “Silence,” the Commander snaps. “Implying that king Joko is lying is blasphemous.”

“But is it?” Kasmeer continues, shrinking a little and voice shaky, but not backing down though she knows that the battle is lost. Kasmeer is nothing if not stubborn and unyielding.

The Commander’s body is consumed by the glow of their skills and they say, “Enough, it’s time to say your goodbyes.”

“Commander, please—”

“They won’t listen, Kasmeer,” Rytlock says, rising to his feet and drawing out Sohothin. “We’ll have to fight.”

Braham pushes up his shield bubble and throws the Commander to the ground, holding them down for what he’s worth even though they’re burning up. Without looking up, he yells, “Get out. Get out of here right now. Run. Get back to the others and go back to Tyria. It’s already too late.”

The burns on his skin keep growing in number as the Commander overheats, but he refuses to let up. Rytlock stares at him, caught in indecision, but as sweat starts to drip down Braham’s face, he takes Kasmeer by the arm and drags her away.

He’s grateful that he’s heavier and bigger than the Commander, because the Commander’s flummoxed only long enough by the audacious act and withheld by his bulk to give Rytlock and Kasmeer a head start.

The Commander breaks out of his hold and blows him away with the force of their sword, not even out of breath. Their expression, however, is furious and cold. Braham’s heart pounds with equal amounts of exhilaration and fear: if he’s to die, dying by this person’s hand is for the best.

Their sword hand is raised as they prepare for the blow, and in that moment, as Braham’s life begins to flash in front of his eyes, a portal opens in the background and the hateful visage of Joko appears within it.

“Bring him to me, my dear little Archon,” Joko purrs. “Since he’s come this far, I should extend him a little bit of hospitality, right?”

The Commander brings down their hand before Joko’s done talking or Braham can see, and then there’s nothing.

* * *

Joko’s long leathery fingers beckon to the Commander and they go to him, entranced, kneeling at his feet. Joko lowers their head into his lap and they let him, allowing such a transgression, and Braham wishes he were blind.

Since he’s woken up, there are only three things in this world. Joko on a throne, the Commander at his feet, and the spell that holds him locked in place, not even letting him speak.

“Ah, the Norn awakens,” Joko says, fingers threading through the Commander’s hair. “I have waited a long time for this. You better appreciate the show I have so painstakingly put together for your convenience.”

Braham realised that his vocal cords are no longer held hostage by the magic binding him, and a string of expletives erupt from his mouth, only to be silenced again. The pressure eases once more and Braham manages to say only a few words.

“Stop touching the Commander!”

“Do you even have the right to ask me that, Braham Eirsson?” Joko asks instead, his voice a pleasant drawl. “Do you have the right to call the little one here by that title? When you abandoned them to die?”

Braham swallows, guilt assaulting him so intensely that despite knowing what Joko’s plans are, he cannot help but succumb to them all the same. The niggling, piercing sensation at his heart doesn’t ease up at all, when he’s told right to his face that it’s  _ his _ fault.

“I saw your face, I heard your words in the Domain of the Lost,” Joko continues, uncaring; relishing in his pain. “In the memories of this one here. Such anguish, such loss and sorrow. So much pain and suffering, only to be cast aside by their friends and beloved people. Only within my grace they’ve found completion and acceptance. So, Norn, why do you think you have a right to their person at all?”

Braham doesn’t reply. There’s nothing to say, despite Joko being wrong about the last part.

Joko can see his reluctance as he presses on: “Do you know what the Domain of the Lost is? Of course, you don’t because you’re stupid and ignorant. However, fear not, I will tell you. That is the place where mortals whose deaths are very deeply traumatic end up, losing their name and their purpose, their memories. Everything.”

The last word is said with a flourish, with relish, but Joko does not stop there either. He continues to speak.

“I found them wandering there, lost and alone, and I graciously took their hand and found their name and memories for them, but as I witnessed them, I was struck by their sorrow.” Joko’s tone unlike his words isn’t sorrowful in the least. “I decided to take matters into my own hands, you know, being the Magnanimous King Palawa Joko.”

He tips the Commander’s chin up with his fingers, caressing their face with them, almost like a loving parent to his child—except he’s anything but. A sickness grips Braham and he says, “Even if all of that is true, you can’t do that. Give their memories back.”

“And make them suffer more?” Joko asks, mildly surprised. “What was it that you said?  _ My mother wouldn’t want you in there? _ Do you know it was the worst possible thing you could do to them at that moment? As they grieved for a beloved person whose life they took?”

Braham falters; the thought of whether the Commander truly wishes for such painful memories back refusing to leave his mind. It’s not his choice to make, or Joko’s, but then—

Joko does not stop. “Where were any of you when Balthazar got to your Commander?” The Commander’s eyes pop open and meet Braham’s, arresting his tongue, and he lets his gaze fall. “What use is crying about it now, Braham Eirsson, when I have them and you don’t?”

There’s a soft gasp, forcing Braham to look up and he wishes he hadn’t because Joko’s mouth is on the Commander’s, and they’re clutching at his loincloth, clearly startled. Braham’s anger explodes, pushing him to bash against the forcefield holding him in, but Joko’s got his tongue and all he can do is wheeze in impotent rage.

It’s one thing to know that the Commander died while he wasn’t looking, and another to watch them get molested by a creepy undead lich. He tries to break free, but then it’s not necessary because the Commander’s the one pulling back, wide-eyed. There’s a very familiar look on their face that twists the knife deeper into Braham’s chest, but he doesn’t have time to compute that either.

Because something flies in and tackles Joko, and there’s a loud scream – whose? Braham does not know – and then the power holding him captive is abruptly released. Braham falls to his knees and shakes his head, before looking up and finds a small blue dragon devouring Joko.

“Aurene…” The Commander whispers, pale-faced, but makes no move to save Joko or to stop her.

She’s a little smaller than the wyverns Braham saw in Maguuma, nothing like the tales of Glint he’d heard of from the skaalds. But it stands to reason because she’s also a child. He staggers over to where the Commander sits, dumbfounded, on the floor and pulls them into his chest to make sure they can’t get away.

Much to his surprise, they don’t even try to.

Once Aurene’s finished devouring what’s left of Joko, the pale blue magic swirling and twinkling in the air like dust motes, she turns to the Commander, unsteadily, and spits out a pale orb in their direction. It floats slowly in the air and subsumes itself into the Commander’s chest, making them tremble and twist in Braham’s arms.

“Aurene,” the Commander cries out, their voice anguished, and Aurene lets out a weak roar and collapses in a heap, as if in great pain. “Aurene, no! Let me go—Braham?” The Commander tries to wriggle out of Braham’s hold, only until they notice who is holding them.

Aurene lets out another noise, beating her wings and tail against the floor, like she’s trying to reassure the Commander that she’s okay. Braham unwinds his arms and lets them go, so they can go check. The Commander crawls over to her and looks at her anxiously, not touching, just hovering.

“I think she’s fine,” Braham says softly, coming closer as well. “Probably got indigestion from eating that guy.”

The Commander hums, a nervous sound that makes them tremble, before they glance back up at him and say, “What are you doing here?”

“Do you not remember?” Braham asks, crossing his arms, trying to hide the numerous injuries the Commander’s left on him.

“Not very clearly…it’s all very hazy,” the Commander says, sitting up a little. “My head is a mess. I think he tampered with my mind once he took my memories. I could barely remember or feel much of what was going on. Not until he called me the Commander too. Not until he returned it to me at the last moment.”

They pause and glance at Braham’s chest, crestfallen. “I’ve done that, haven’t I…and much more.”

“It’s fine,” Braham says gruffly before frowning. “But wait, he gave you your name back just now? Why would he do that?”

“I’m not sure,” the Commander says, wiping at their mouth. “Some of the memories too. He seemed unhappy with how I behaved often, so maybe that’s why.”

“Disgusting creep,” Braham spits. “I’m glad he’s dead. I wish I’d eaten him myself.”

The Commander says nothing, eyes trained on Aurene’s form but their gaze is vacant, drawn inwards. There’s a minute tremble in their voice whenever they speak, a touch of vulnerability he’d never heard before and Braham doesn’t know what to do with it. It’s not until the din of noises outside grows to a clamour that Braham’s roused from his reverie.

He says, “We should get out of here. How do we get out of here?”

“There’s a teleporter room that way—” the Commander points to the right. “His personal one. We can use that to get out, but I don’t know how to set the coordinates. I guess we’ll figure it out.”

“Or we can ask Taimi,” Braham says, looking around in his clothes until he locates the little communicator and switches it on.

“Don’t—don’t tell her yet,” the Commander whispers, and Braham nods, not understanding but also not protesting.

Carrying Aurene on his back, despite his injuries, Braham and Commander exit the Moon Palace ten minutes later, teleporting to the other end of Elona near a peaceful Ogre village, leaving Joko and his kingdom behind.

* * *

There’s a lot of cleanup to be done, and the Commander stays front and centre of it, despite the animosity of the Elonian people. They help rebuild Amnoon, brick by brick, until people stop viewing them with pure hostility. They don’t partake in discussions or meetings, only working themselves to a bone: there’s nothing they have to offer beyond that, after all.

The Sunspears and the Order of Shadows coordinate to rebuild a sustainable government, but the Commander and their Dragon’s Watch, and their dragon, stay out of it.

Aside from the regular brandstorms, that is. Saving Amnoon a few times from those also helps reduce the friction between the common citizens and the Commander, though it doesn’t really matter in the end, or so Taimi tells him.

Once Amnoon’s fixed to an extent, the Commander finally returns to the highlands where the rest of them are. It’s the first time Braham’s seen them in a month, since the time they returned from Gandara, and he has no idea how to begin talking to them.

Neither does the Commander, it seems. They look at him once, open their mouth slightly, and then they go and talk to Taimi, Rytlock, Kasmeer, Canach and Rox, ignoring him altogether.

At night, when everyone’s gone to sleep, Braham goes on a hunt to find the Commander, and locates them underneath the stars, spread out next to the little creek, staring up at the cosmos. They sit up when they hear his approach, like a startled wild animal and Braham’s heart begins to ache preemptively.

He didn’t know it could hurt this much, just to be next to this person, and yet…

“Braham…” their voice is softer, smaller than he remembers. Or perhaps, he’s truly seeing them for what they are for the first time. “Do you need anything?”

“We need to talk,” Braham says, crossing the thin stream of water and settling down next to them where he can feel their presence.

The Commander flinches minutely, but to their credit, they stay put where they are though he can tell they are a little uncomfortable. He’s waited a month, so he will not be denied since he cannot wait through another.

“Then talk,” the Commander says, voice oddly balanced on the territory of something he can’t quite put his finger on, but it makes him anxious, like the fluttering of butterfly wings in his stomach.

“I need to apologise,” Braham says from between clenched teeth. “I was an absolute ass to you.”

The Commander’s eyes go wide, reflecting the endless galaxies upon their pupils, taking Braham’s breath away. They look guileless in this moment, caught by surprise, the mask cracking entirely. And then they lower their gaze, depriving Braham of that unguarded look. The sense of loss he feels is inexplicable.

So, he wants to chase that look again, almost giving in to that impulse and holding back only at the last moment. Instead, he says, “I said some things I should have never said. I didn’t even mean them, though it makes no difference because you heard them all the same. You didn’t deserve that all. No matter how angry I was—”

“It’s…all right, Braham. Grief can be difficult to process, and I didn’t make it easy for you either,” the Commander says, soft and soothing, and he wants so badly to reach out again, make sure they’re still  _ here _ . “There’s nothing to apologise for.”

“You shouldn’t forgive me so easily,” Braham says, cracking almost as the guilt he’s kept at bay rushing to overwhelm him. “I didn’t even see how badly you were suffering and yet I…”

The Commander freezes, relapses into silence, looking to their side as the words hang between them. Acknowledgment of the fact was never going to make it easy to reach out to them, and it doesn’t help that the Commander keeps backing away from him.

“Commander, I—”

“It’s enough,” the Commander says like the world’s slowly crushing them into paste. “It’s enough that you’re here. I don’t need anything more than that.” Then they continue in a voice that breaks his heart: “You will be here.”

Maybe it’s because he’s already done this before, so he has the guts to do it again, or perhaps because he saw Joko touch them and the Commander actually  _ let _ him—or just maybe it’s way the Commander’s asked him—Braham has no clue, but he is reaching out to gather in his arms this larger than life existence, that was extinguished and then stolen and Braham had to fight the world to get it back.

They’re solid and warm and soft against him, and yet rigid and squirming, uncomfortable for a really long moment. As Braham’s hold loosens, the Commander grips at his sleeves hard enough that it hurts, and presses back. The desperate gasp next to his ear, like a choked back noise, aborted before it can leave their lips, and the death grip on his arms propel Braham to tuck them completely into his embrace and not move.

“I will be by your side,” he agrees as the stars start to wink out of existence, long after the time for promises and grand declarations is past, but it doesn’t make his words meaningless. “Always.”

“Always,” the Commander whispers back, and that is enough.

  
  



End file.
